He shrugged one shoulder. “See for yourself, love. He has an attractive woman standing directly under the mistletoe, and he would rather quarrel than kiss her.”
Edith’s mouth opened and closed several times, but no words came out. Fergus’s gaze lifted to the mistletoe he’d fixed in the doorway. His face flushed a dark red.
“Yes, do it!” Gracie rushed forward, clapping her hands. “You must kiss her, Fergus! She is under the mistletoe. Kiss her! Kiss her!”
Fergus aimed a glare at Sebastian before addressing Helena’s sister.
“I’m certain Mistress Gallagher would prefer I not impose upon her.”
Edith sniffed. “Don’t be daft, Mr. McTaggart. It’s tradition. Just kiss me and put this ridiculous matter behind us.”
“That is the spirit, old girl,” Sebastian said with a laugh.
Not that Edith was truly old, perhaps no more than thirty. She had smooth skin and a voluptuous figure. The only feature that made her appear older was her pale blonde hair, which she wore in a tight knot, along with her wire spectacles.
Fergus simply grunted. Edith’s thin brows rose in challenge.
The muscles in Fergus’s jaw bulged as he flexed his fingers on the ladder rung.
“Crivvens!”
At last, he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her against him for a loud, smacking kiss on the mouth. When he thrust her away, Edith stumbled. He held on until she regained her balance, then snatched his hands back as if contact had scorched his skin.
She gaped at him, her eyes wide and round behind her spectacles.
Gracie cheered and turned to Helena and Sebastian. “Now it’s your turn. Go stand under the mistletoe, Helena.”
Sebastian gave Helena a gentle nudge. “You heard your sister. We have memories to make, remember?”
Helena chuckled as she complied with their wishes. She hadn’t celebrated Christmas with her family in nine years, and Gracie had been a baby when Helena was taken to Scotland to marry. Sebastian was right; they had many memories to create together.
Edith shuffled to the side while Fergus carried the ladder further into the foyer, clearing the way. Helena centered herself beneath the mistletoe.
One come-hither glance had her husband crossing to her in three long strides. His hands encircled her waist, and the smile he bestowed nearly made her swoon.
Sebastian Thorne was the most handsome man she had ever seen, and with every kindness he showed to her and her family, he became even more irresistible.
He sent a teasing smile in Fergus’s direction. “This is how you kiss a woman.”
Helena gasped as he dipped her backward and planted a sweet kiss on her lips. The kiss wasn’t one of his all-consuming ones, the kind that made her forget her name. They had an audience, after all. But it filled her heart and satisfied at least one onlooker.
“Bravo!” Gracie cried. “I want a turn!”
She hurried to the threshold and wiggled between Helena and Sebastian, prompting them to place kisses on her cheeks before hugging her tight. The sharp, green scent of winter woods still clung to her clothes.
The Christmas season was upon them, and Helena couldn’t wait to make it the best one ever for those she loved.
Edith slumped against the foyer wall, fearing her knees would buckle and drop her to the stone floor. Her breath escaped in shallow little puffs as she struggled to mask her reaction to Mr. McTaggart’s kiss.
She didn’t know what had possessed her to challenge him; perhaps the restlessness plaguing her since their arrival in Scotland was to blame. Having never set foot outside of London until a couple of months ago, she found the sedate pace of life at Aldmist Fell a trifle dreary.
Or perhaps her cheekiness stemmed not from boredom, but from being sick to death of Mr. McTaggart snubbing her. The next time she spotted him in the castle, she resolved to chase after him until he had no choice but to acknowledge her.
Goodness! If Lavinia could see her now…
Edith had always been content remaining in the shadows, but something about the bull-headed Scot made her want to charge into the light.
He had disliked her from the moment he laid eyes on her, and it wasn’t fair. Instead of engaging in pleasantries as one might expect when meeting someone for the first time, Mr. McTaggart had merely grunted at her.
